The Downward Spiral
by tfm
Summary: As a key facet of Emily's past is brought to the forefront, her deepening relationship with Morgan is affected. She thinks she's got it all together, but she doesn't know how little it takes to crack. There will be some answers, and even more questions.
1. Chapter 1

The Downward Spiral

_**How nice--to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.**_

_Kurt Vonnegut_

**A/N: This story continues directly from the epilogue of AFF2: Sanity Frontier. If you haven't read this, I strongly advise at least reading the epilogue. While it won't give full details, it will help a bit with understanding this one. And while you're at it, read the epilogue of AFF: When the Levee Breaks.**

ONE

Morgan found himself storming into Hotch's office, a little unsure of what emotions he was supposed to be expressing.

'What the hell's going on, man?' His question was highly unprofessional at best, and insubordination at worst. Still, it was a valid assessment of his confusion.

Hotch looked somewhat exasperated. 'I'll tell you when I figure it out myself.'

Reid followed Morgan into the office, his own appearance the definitive look of bewilderment. 'What just happened?' He had been informed of neither the original torturous experience, nor the subsequent additions to the story. For once, Spencer Reid was entirely out of the loop.

'Get Garcia,' Hotch ordered Morgan. He wanted to sort out this mystery once and for all.

Emily was silent as Hassan told his story. She was in another place, another time, only vaguely listening to his explanation of events.

'_Please, no!'_

From her inattentive listening, she gathered that he had not died as the bullet struck him, but had been gravely wounded. Faking death, his "corpse" had been thrown out like garbage. Barely alive, he had managed to crawl he was discovered by a group of nomads. They nursed him back to health, but the traumatic events had been repressed by his mind.

It played almost like a bad cover story, the kind you found in soap operas when the character didn't want you to know the truth. Still, the miracle of his survival seemed to overshadow any doubt at his intentions.

While undergoing cognitive therapy for another incident entirely, the repressed memories were dredged up.

'That was three months ago,' Hassan concluded.

'He came to the embassy, looking for me,' Elizabeth butted in. 'Of course, I haven't worked there in twelve years. Luckily, I still have some contacts. They phoned me, and I set about trying to get Hassan back into the country. Of course,' she added with subtle spite, 'If you'd listen to my messages, you would have known this.'

Emily opened her mouth to speak, and then realised that she had nothing to say. What could she say? "Hi, good to see you again, sorry I got you tortured and almost killed"? No, that wouldn't work. Neither would "Honey, we missed our last wedding anniversary by thirteen years. Want to go get pizza?" Instead, she took what was the simplest course of action. She stood up, and walked out of the room.

The ladies' bathroom seemed the obvious place to go in a crisis. She found an empty stall and locked herself in. She closed the lid and sat down, head in her hands. When the knocking and prying voice came half an hour later, it wasn't her mother, as she had expected it to be. It was Hassan.

'I know you're in shock,' he said hesitantly through the wooden door. 'And I don't want to pressure you into anything. I just want to work through this slowly.' He stepped backwards, readying himself to walk away. Before he could, Emily opened the door. They looked into each other's eyes for several seconds before Emily finally spoke.

'This is the _ladies_' room, Captain Kirk,' she informed him, causing him to break into a wide-toothed grin. This was the Emily Prentiss he had fallen in love with, the bizarre sense of humour, the nerdy nicknames.

This time, when he hugged her, she eagerly reciprocated.

**A/N: Never fear, not all is as it seems. M/E is not dead yet. I will try to get as many chapters of this one up before I go away, but I highly doubt it will be finished before then. You'll all just have to wait.**


	2. Chapter 2

The Downward Spiral

_**Those whom we support hold us up in life.**_

_Marie Ebner von Eschenbach_

TWO

Emily knocked on the door of Hotch's office. 'You guys got a minute?'

Garcia and Reid jumped back defensively. Rossi cast a glance towards Morgan, who smiled awkwardly. Only Hotch looked at her directly.

'You're reading the file.' She grasped the situation almost immediately, which was not hard considering the guilty looks on several faces. She was, however, unprepared for a flying leap from Garcia, which culminated in a tight hug.

'I'm so sorry you had to go through all that,' whispered the blonde, from somewhere around Emily's midsection. Emily tried to pry the hands off her, but to no avail. She looked pleadingly towards Morgan.

'Come on, baby girl,' he coaxed. 'Give Emily some space. I think you're choking her to death.' To Emily, he asked, almost conversationally, 'So are you spending the day with Hassan?' His voice was laced with a hint of jealousy that even Garcia detected.

'No. He and my mother have to sort out some issues. He's still dead according to a bit of paper in a filing cabinet somewhere.'

There was a knock on the door from behind them. Emily moved forward to accommodate the latest arrival, Agent Todd. Hotch's office wasn't designed to fit seven people, and they quickly made the decision to relocate to the now empty conference room.

'Can I just...' Emily trailed off, looking over towards her mother and Hassan. They were talking in low voices.

'Five minutes,' was all Hotch said.

* * *

'Hey.' Emily greeted them as nonchalantly as possible. 'I have a case, so I don't know when I'll be back. Do you have a place to stay?'

'I booked him into a hotel,' Elizabeth took charge of the conversation, as she was always prone to do.

'Don't be ridiculous, Mother.' Emily reached a hand into her ready bag and pulled out her keys, detaching the apartment set. 'Stay at my place. Can you give him the address?' she directed this to her mother.

'I have to go,' she didn't give either of them a chance to argue. 'I'll call you tonight.' She gave him a swift hug, and then set off in the direction of the conference room.

She quietly took a seat at the far end of the round table, next to Hotch and Reid. Reid gave her a tiny supportive smile. At the front of the room, Jordan began to speak.

'I didn't want to seem subjective, so I called JJ, and she agreed that we need to work this case.' Despite having been a part of the team for nearly two months, Jordan still felt the need to defend her choices.

'Counter-Terrorism called me directly – they've had threats of a terrorist cell operating in D.C.' She flicked a couple of buttons. Several photos appeared on screen. 'Friday, they received an anonymous tip revealing the location of several members of the cell. It was a trap.' Several more photos flashed on screen, bodies and debris littering the site.

'The group are known radicals, intent on chaos and destruction. Race and creed varies within the group, and their reasons for wanting chaos and destruction are unclear. This is why we were called.'

'Do we know the name of the group?' asked Reid, forgoing his own information dump in favour of Jordan's. Beside him, Emily bit at her fingernails, knowingly apprehensive of what was to come.

'They call themselves the Circle. We – CT, sorry – believe that they are a significant threat.'

'Yeah,' said Reid. 'They're a threat.' He looked sideways at Emily. Her head was in her hands now. He'd read her file in less than three minutes, finger scanning the page at lightning speed. He knew every last detail of that file, burned into his brain permanently. There was a tiny subsection in the file, barely even a sentence long. He was sure there was probably a supplementary file somewhere. It had read "the group responsible for this act is reputed to be known as the Circle".

He put a hand on her shoulder, hoping inanely that no-one would notice. She really was having a terrible year.


	3. Chapter 3

The Downward Spiral

_**Faith is taking the first step, even when you don't see the whole staircase.**_

_Martin Luther King Junior_

THREE

'Do you want to sit this one out?' was the first question Hotch asked. He hadn't missed a trick – he too recognised the name from the file. He would never admit it to anyone, but he had spent the last several months reading and re-reading it, searching for some kind of meaning. It wasn't just the work that had consumed him, it was his team. He had had the same doubts, the same lingering obsessions whenever a case got too close to any one of them. It was as if losing them would be losing a part of himself. Already, his very core had been fragmented, with the departure of Gideon and Elle and the death of Kate Joyner.

'No,' she said, with an air of confidence. 'I can do this.'

'I need you focused and objective.'

'I will be,' she assured him. 'Focused and objective.' She repeated his mantra, as if reassuring herself. She wasn't after revenge, or closure. She just wanted to get on with her life. Fate, though, was a problem. That fickle nemesis that kept butting in and ruining her plans. She wanted to shoot fate right between the eyes.

'We're co-ordinating at the D.C. field office,' Jordan input, hoping to change the subject from what she felt was already an awkward conversation. It was an abrupt end to the meeting, with Reid, Rossi and Jordan quickly making excuses to leave, promising to meet the rest of the team in the parking lot.

'I'm not going to lie, Prentiss. His sudden reappearance disturbs me.' Hotch didn't need to elaborate on who he was referring to. Garcia shifted uncomfortably. She was running every search parameter in relation to the original case, hoping to find out just what – if any – Hassan's reasons for survival were.

'If you can't trust him, then trust me,' she responded with fiery eyes. 'Or do you not have confidence in my judgement?'

The fact was, he trusted her judgment a great deal more than most. If he didn't, then he would have taken her out of the field immediately, used up sick leave be damned. He voiced this opinion, and she softened considerably.

'I understand that the timing is a bit...suspect. And I can understand that you've got Garcia running searches.' Garcia looked up guiltily, caught out. Emily continued. 'But know that if there is a problem, I won't be keeping any secrets about it, from anyone. I expect the same courtesy from you.' She cast a knowing glance towards Garcia, who shuffled backwards in her chair, guilty look still in place. The technical analyst quickly packed up her gear, and exited the office. Morgan and Emily soon followed suit.

They found themselves alone in the hallway, for the first time since the shock appearance of Hassan. This wasn't the conversation she wanted to have at Quantico. This was the kind of conversation that required privacy, not gossiping junior agents standing three feet away.

'Um...' she started, unsure of what to say. She had been brought up to avoid such colloquial speech; it didn't look respectable in the presence of foreign dignitaries.

'It's okay.' He seemed to know what direction she was going in before she did. 'I'll give you some space. Any choice you make has to be your choice, and I don't want you to feel pressured.' He gave that signature Morgan grin, though it was missing some of its warmth. She could see that he was being polite, a gentleman. That only made the decision harder. It pained her to think of it as a decision. She had thought herself above the indignity of choosing between two men.

To his credit, Morgan had chosen to share his SUV with Hotch and Jordan, leaving Emily with Reid and Rossi. Reid had had Garcia print off every piece of information on the Circle that they could find, unverified or otherwise. He was shuffling through the thick sheaf of papers now, eyes flickering.

'The Circle came into existence approximately sixteen years ago, taking credit for a series of explosions in a Turkish marketplace. Seventeen people were killed, and there was no known motive. Their methods were initially haphazard, explosions, kidnappings.' Emily winced slightly, and Reid paused for a moment before continuing. 'Assassinations. They were – and are – indiscriminate. Their main objective appears to be to cause chaos, but no-one knows why.'

'Project Mayhem,' mused Emily.

'While it does share some similarities, Project Mayhem's ultimate goal was to bring down civilisation as we know it. The Circle appears less directed – they've been going at this for sixteen years, and while they haven't been unsuccessful at what they do, they haven't been working towards an overall goal or mission statement.'

Rossi only had one difficulty with Reid's conclusions. 'Project Mayhem?' he asked. If it was a past case, it certainly wasn't one that he'd heard of.

'Fight Club,' explained Reid, with little to no embarrassment. He was becoming used to obscure – and even mainstream – pop culture references being unfamiliar to most of the agents that he encountered. Satisfied that Rossi's curiosity had been satiated, he continued his speech. 'More recently, the Circle has taken to focusing on controlled explosions in population areas. This was their first confirmed attack on US soil.'

'Well,' said Rossi, turning into the D.C. field office. 'Let's hope it's their last.'


	4. Chapter 4

The Downward Spiral

_**Remember that fear always lurks behind perfectionism. Confronting your fears and allowing yourself the right to be human can, paradoxically, make you a far happier and more productive person.**_

_Dr. David M. Burns_

FOUR

Garcia tapped out an information laden email to Hotch. Though she had essentially been given Emily's blessing, it still felt wrong to be digging through the past of someone she saw almost every day.

The body of the message was a brief summary of the files attached. '_Hey, Boss-man,' _the message started out. _'Here's the life history of one Hassan David Edwards. Born in Syria, March 4__th__ 1968 to an Arabic mother and an American father – another Ambassador no less. Ambassador Edwards was in the country participating in the negotiations for the aftermath of the Six Day War (Much longer than six days, by the way). After the death of his mother, Ambassador Edwards relocated Hassan to the good old U.S of A, where he spent the majority of the time in boarding school, as his father globe-trekked. School reports describe him as highly intelligent – almost at Reid's level – and something of a ladykiller. Joined the US Military in'87 – became a sniper for Special Forces. Was discharged in the lead-up to the Gulf War, probably – though no-one would ever admit it – due to his Arabic heritage. Met Emily Prentiss in 1990 at some fancy-pants Ambassadorial function.' _

Her fingers had flown up until this point, but now they stopped. To ensure completeness, she would be required to give Hotch Emily's personal history as well. She took a deep breath and continued, hoping to get the painful experience over with as quickly as possible. _'Emily Prentiss, born November 12__th__, 1971 to you-know-who. Spent her life globe-trekking with her parents, but still managed to complete high school in '89 with top grade. Went to Yale, majoring in psych, minoring in linguistics, graduating in '91. The CIA recruited her straight out of Yale. Their son, Steven Edwards, was born at the tail end of 1990 (that must have been one hell of an Ambassadorial function). The two married December 1991. Hassan became something of a stay at home dad. Cut to June 1994, the family Edwards are visiting the Mother Prentiss in Kuwait, for yet another Ambassadorial function. Here's the kicker – she apparently forgot that they were coming, being overcome with Ambassadorial duties. As such, no-one noticed they were missing until a month later.' _

Here, she almost stopped typing completely, as if what had happened fourteen years ago was still lingering, waiting to pounce down upon her. _'Three months later, the CIA had retrieved (tortured) the information of their whereabouts from an "informant". When as squad arrived, Ambassador Prentiss at their rear, they found no sign of either Hassan or Steven. Emily was unconscious at the time. Medical report indicates she had been repeatedly tortured, raped, etc (I really don't want to go into detail on this – it's all in the attachments). She spent the next eight months in physical therapy, and the next two years in psychiatric therapy. When all was said and done, she quit the CIA, and joined the FBI instead._'

She had tears in her eyes. Just thinking about the experience made her upset; she couldn't even begin to imagine the pain involved in actually having been tortured, been raped.

She added a footnote at the bottom of the message. _'This is just Part One. Part Two comes when I can find out what _really_ happened to Hassan.'_ She send the message directly to Hotch – just Hotch – and went off in search of some serious comfort.

**A/N: This one was going to be longer, but I have to get to work, and I just wanted to get it out there before you all go crazy from withdrawal. Because you know you will. And on another note, please don't write off Hassan as a bad guy just yet. AND REVIEW. REMEMBER TO REVIEW.**


	5. Chapter 5

The Downward Spiral

_**Emergencies have always been necessary to progress. It was darkness which produced the lamp. It was fog that produced the compass. It was hunger that drove us to exploration. And it took a depression to teach us the real value of a job.**_

_Victor Hugo_

FIVE

Emily recognised several of the faces at the D.C field office. A couple she knew by sight only, having walked the halls of several major field offices in her twelve years with the FBI. One of them, like her, was ex-CIA, and she knew his presence was no coincidence.

'Emily,' he greeted her in a gruff, scratchy voice. He'd been shot in the throat by an Israeli sniper years before, and now he couldn't talk to strangers without them getting a creepy vibe.

'Chris.' They nodded to each other, but not make any physical contact.

'I heard a rumour that Hassan was back in town. That true?'

'Yep.'

Chris sighed and shook his head. 'At first I'd thought it was impossible for him to get gunned down by some terrorist nutters. After five years, I kinda gave up hope, but Christ. Fourteen fucking years. The crazy bastard. He given you the real story yet?'

She thought about it for a second. 'He's given me _a_ story. But it's not the real one. We were in...mixed company.' She snorted out the last phrase. Hotch raised an eyebrow at her.

'I'll tell you when _I _find out,' she assured him.

'Is there something that I'm missing?' asked Hotch.

Chris shrugged. 'Hassan is one paranoid son of a bitch.'

The lead agent of the D.C. field office – Agent Kidd – cleared his throat. 'Can we get started on the case?' he said, a little snarkily. 'That is, of course, if I'm not interrupting a personal conversation.

'This is case related,' argued Chris in a snide tone. There was clearly nothing but contempt between him and Agent Kidd. 'If we get the true story from Hassan we stand to gain a better understanding of the Circle.'

'And why is this_ Hassan_ so important to our investigation?'

'Because he was kidnapped by the Circle.' Chris nodded towards Emily. 'They both were. They can give us unique insight.'

'You survived an encounter with the Circle?' Agent Kidd asked Emily coolly. It was the first sentence he'd ever spoken to her, and already she could tell that he was a complete jackass.

'Not by my own actions.' She crossed her arms, pre-emptively defensive.

'I swear, your mother is as stubborn as they come. She moved heaven and earth to get you back. She tried to indict any member of the department that wasn't working the case.'

Emily gave half a smile at that. She loved her mother, she really did, but often it seemed she was only willing to give a display of affection when her daughter wasn't actually there to see it.

The group split quickly then, with the majority of the BAU – Morgan, Reid, Hotch and Jordan – leaving for their only crime scene. Emily and Rossi stayed behind with Chris and a couple of other agents – also on the shitlist, apparently – to work up a preliminary profile on the Circle.

'Be careful,' Emily warned Hotch. 'I don't think they're above a secondary incendiary device.'

Hotch grimaced. 'From what I hear, I don't think they're above anything.'

* * *

Emily found herself driving back home at seven o'clock that night. Both Chris and Rossi had insisted on it. She had given up all she could remember, and now she had to work on Hassan. She made several stops on the way home, picking up some things to make him feel more at home. She didn't know if he still drank expensive Bourbon, if he still liked Thai, if he still watched re-runs of the Twilight Zone. Fourteen years down the drain. So much could have changed. He could be a completely different person.

It took all the courage she had to get out her spare keys and open the door. It was one thing to interact with him in an office full of people, but alone, that was something else.

She opened the door to a pistol pointed at her face. Surprised, she nearly dropped the bags she was carrying. As it turned out, he hadn't lost his paranoia.

'Fuck. You scared the shit out of me.' He brought the sailor in her out, that was for sure.

'Could've been anyone.' Examining the gun, she realised it was her backup weapon. The one she kept in the apartment at all times. It was a dangerous world. She shut the door behind herself, and put the bags down on the kitchen bench.

'You cracked the safe?'

'04-03-68. It's nice to be remembered.' She had almost forgotten having used his birthday as the safe code. 'And that's not all I found in there.' He gave her a stern look, holding up a packet of Camels.

She looked almost guilty; she'd been trying to quit on and off for almost a decade now. She'd been clean, for lack of a better term, for almost a month now. Keeping the cigarettes in the safe seemed to be a deterrent. 'I'm trying to quit,' she explained.

He raised an eyebrow. 'What I meant was when did you stop smoking Marlboros?'

'Oh. I don't know. Five years, maybe?' She slid the Thai food containers across to him, followed by a bowl and a fork.

'Are you eating?'

'Not hungry. I was going to shower, and hit the sack. I think I smell like a corpse.'

'Can I join you?' His tone was not an aroused one, but more urgent, paranoid.

Her eyes scanned the apartment. 'It's not bugged in here.'

He gave a suggestive grin. 'So maybe I have ulterior motives.' It amazed her how quickly he could jump between the two facets of his personality. It was something she had always loved about him – still did love, even.

She rolled her eyes. 'One condition.' If she had to do this, she would at least get something out of it.

'Name it.'

'You tell me the full – the real – story. Not that bullshit you fed my mother.'

His arms encircled her, and before she even noticed, he had her shirt halfway unbuttoned. 'Deal,' he whispered softly into her ear.

**A/N: Okay M/E shippers, don't kill me yet. The story is far from over (Though you'll have plenty to hate me for in the next chapter). A side note though, I'm finding it easier to write the interaction scenes with Hassan. On that note, how would some of you feel about a prequel story detailing exactly what did happen fourteen years ago? It means I'd be able to write more Has/Em, which I kind of do like doing. It won't change the outcome for this plotline that I've already written up. While the end of the story isn't in sight yet, it has been written. Give me your opinions.**


	6. Chapter 6

The Downward Spiral

_**There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.**_

_Friedrich Nietzsche_

SIX

He sniffed at the open bottle. 'New shampoo?' He would never forget that smell, like wild strawberries. That was the smell that had kept him going.

'They stopped making the other one.'

This new one smelt different somehow. It was still strawberries, but they had a different scent, as if doused in some unknown condiment.

He rubbed it gently into her wet hair, kneading slowly.

'So,' she said. 'No-one can hear you scream. 'fess up.'

'I want to enjoy the moment.' He pulled her closer, and she could already feel him beginning to "enjoy the moment" just a little too much.

'I'm still dirty,' she protested, and regretted it immediately.

'You'll _always_ be dirty, Ann Darrow.'

'Ann Darrow fell in love with a giant ape.'

'No,' he corrected her, faking admonishment. 'The ape fell in love with Ann Darrow. Analogous, no?'

'Only if you're planning on falling off the Empire State Building.' She handed him a loofah, stating, 'Come on. Earn your keep.'

He lathered up the loofah, moving to start on her back. It was then that he paid full attention the network of scar tissue that covered it. His fingers mapped the uneven skin. Beneath them, she began to tense.

'Kuwait?' he spoke softly, afraid that if his voice would crack if it went any louder.

'Mostly,' came the reply, equally as soft. They were silent for a few fleeting seconds, the only sound being the water that pounded them from above. Then, she told him of the case in Maine, of the torturer Max Clark.

His fingers traversed slowly to her front, finding yet more scars. She guided his fingers to her neck – the electrical burn scars – and to her thigh – knife wound from a crazed Spanish torture victim. He kissed the neck gently.

'Now that we've dampened the mood,' she started. 'Did you want to tell me why I've been living alone for fourteen years?'

'After he shot me, he left. One of the other men – he was reluctant. He didn't want to be there. He told the others that I was dead, and that he was taking my body to feed to the animals. He cleaned my wound, pointed me in the direction of the nearest hospital.'

He stopped, looking almost embarrassed to continue. Telling the story was clearly a blow to his dignity.

'I was starved, delirious. I can't even remember what I did. Whatever it was, it was enough to get arrested, apparently.'

Things suddenly clicked for Emily. 'You've spent the last fourteen years in a Kuwait prison?' she asked incredulously. It seemed almost anticlimactic.

'To think of you and Steven was all I could do to survive.' Unbeknownst to him, her eyes filled with tears at the very sound of their son's name. The spark had officially left the building. She finished off the shower quickly, trying to hide her face as she towelled off.

He looked at her with puppy-dog eyes as she dressed. She brushed him off. 'You've waited fourteen years, you can wait another night.' She kissed him goodnight, but it was void of any passion that might have been present earlier in the night.

Oblivious to the childishness of his own sulking, Hassan followed her into the bedroom, towel around his waist.

**A/N: Okay, there's a chapter that you might love, might hate. But, it is necessary. More to come later. Keep up the reviewing, sorry it was so short, now I have to go to work. **


	7. Chapter 7

The Downward Spiral

_**Life is a fatal complaint, and an eminently contagious one.**_

_Oliver Wendell Holmes_

SEVEN

It was with some trepidation that she allowed Hassan to accompany her to the D.C field office the next morning. Apart from wanting to introduce him to her colleagues, he was in a position to add more to the profile.

'You want McDonalds?' He had always been partial to their breakfast meals, despite the excessive calorie levels. Emily had never quite taken to the habit, often already at work by the time breakfast rolled around.

This morning, though, she was feeling adventurous. She made the turn into the drive-thru, and satiated his desire. He used a noticeable chunk of the cash she had lent him to buy a substantial breakfast. She stuck with coffee and an egg McMuffin.

He was finishing off his final hash brown when they entered the conference room of the D.C field office. 'He looks so _normal_,' Garcia whispered to the person who was closest, which happened to be Reid. The tech had travelled the short distance at Hotch's request. He hadn't even explained why he wanted her there.

'"Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats,"' quoted Hassan. The room's occupants – bar Reid and Emily – looked at him in confusion. Reid was unperturbed because he recognised the source of the quote, and Emily because she was quite used to Hassan's often bizarre behaviour. Fourteen years of emptiness didn't erase four years of bliss.

Emily made the round of introductions. Morgan stood to the back, hoping his presence to be glossed over. He saw the twinkle in her eyes, the happiness that had been so absent in the past few months. All it had taken was for _him_ to show up. In one night – one single night – he had managed to make her smile again. He was upset, and wildly jealous, but he wasn't angry. He didn't think he could bring himself to be angry. Still, he knew he couldn't look her in the eye just yet.

'...Derek Morgan.' Morgan snapped out of his mental refuge as he heard himself being introduced. He took Hassan's proffered hand and shook it firmly. 'Nice to meet you.' He wouldn't go as far as to say that he was lying, but he definitely knew he would have preferred it had he not shown up unexpectedly.

Hassan looked over the profile of the Circle that had been handed to him by Hotch. He nodded several times, at evidently accurate perceptions. 'They let me go,' he revealed upon completing the profile. Several eyebrows raised into hairlines. 'At least, one of them did. I'd say their hold on "employees", for lack of a better term, may be somewhat fragile. At least, it was fourteen years ago.'

Their information was dated, that was the problem. Personnel, procedure, penalty rates – it might all be different.

'Is it really wise to let him read classified information,' Agent Kidd asked from the doorway. He had excused himself when Hassan had first arrived, apparently not caring for the meet and greet.

'That's our prerogative,' argued Hotch. He had taken Emily's words to heart – someone she trusted was someone he trusted. He only hoped that she wasn't wrong.

Kidd sneered. He grabbed the remote from the table and flicked on the projector screen. It was a news broadcast – live, apparently. An explosion. Possible terrorist attack. Seven dead, dozens injured. The look on his face was almost triumphant. It was sickening, given the circumstances.

'Let's get to it,' Hotch said immediately. They all got ready to leave.

'Is your license valid?' Emily asked Hassan. She wouldn't have him sitting around a potentially dangerous crime scene. It was bad enough losing him the first time around.

'No. It's okay, though. I'll hit the town. It's changed a lot since I was here last.' He kissed her on the cheek and left as quickly as he had arrived. Morgan felt himself stiffen.

'Hotch,' Emily tried to catch her boss before he reached the door. 'Can I talk to you for a second?'

He stopped, concerned. 'Your head's in the game?'

She seemed confused that he would jump to such a conclusion. 'Absolutely. It's just...I've been remembering more and more stuff about...the incident,' she described it in a detached tone, one that made Hotch wonder just how dissociated she really was. 'I'm not sure if they're false memories or not, but you wanted to be kept appraised...so here's me appraising you.'

He nodded, satisfied.

'Oh,' she added one more thing before leaving. 'If you're looking into what "really" happened, get Garcia to check Kuwait prison records. She should find something there.'

Feeling somewhat unburdened, she followed Hotch to the remaining black SUV in the parking lot.


	8. Chapter 8

The Downward Spiral

_**The best armor is to keep out of range.**_

_Italian Proverb_

EIGHT

The crime scene was chaos. Emily and Hotch learned very quickly that it was not, in fact, secured. It was entirely possible that there was still a bomb on site.

'EVACUATE THE AREA. EVERYBODY PLEASE EVACUATE THE AREA.' Emily couldn't see who was calling out the warning, but she wasn't sure that it was the best advice.

'There could be multiple secondary devices,' she told Hotch, as they were ushered to a safe distance. 'Designed to be set off in the event of an evacuation.

'There are a lot of "what ifs,"' Hotch argued in reply. Nonetheless, they complied with the orders given by the mysterious disembodied voice.

She found herself being pushed along by the crowd. It was a claustrophobic experience, one that seemed to remind her of being choked. It was not a pleasant experience. She tried pushing to the edge of the crowd, less safe, yes, but less people too.

She took a deep breath, hands on her knees. She didn't know if Hotch was following her. She didn't even know if the others had actually made it to the crime scene. Were they too stuck in a crowd?

Something – no, someone – caught her eye. A boy, maybe seventeen years old. He was tall and solidly built, yet he seemed to be frightened.

'It'll be okay, kid,' she tried to reassure him, but wasn't quite sure if she believed it herself. He had looked like he was about to run, right into the danger. Instead, he stayed, looking into her eyes. She looked back for a second before realising. They were _his_ eyes. She scanned the rest of his face. That was _his _nose, his chin. The kid was a miniature version of Hassan, right down to the subtle mole on the left cheek. They'd laughed about that, one day in the hospital, so long ago.

'If he is as handsome as is father,' Hassan had said. 'Then let us hope that he has his mother's smile.'

'Steven?' He did start to run then, breaking eye contact. 'Steven!' She ran after him, ignorant of the warnings from various bomb squad technicians. She probably should have heeded their warning, a fact she discovered as the burning heat of a bomb blast threw her backwards.

She lay on the ground, lungs filling with ash. She couldn't move, though it was out of shock rather than injury. At least, that's what she thought. It was the last thing she thought before sinking into a blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

She awoke to someone – Hotch, she thought – calling her name.

'Prentiss! Prentiss, can you hear me?' When using her surname didn't work, he attempted her first name. 'Emily!' Her eyes blinked open slowly, and Hotch sighed a breath of relief. He couldn't lose someone else in an explosion.

'Did you see him?' she sat up, against his attempted restraints. She was coughing and had a nasty cut to the forehead, but could find no other surface damage. Hotch's ears were bleeding. He really didn't have very good luck with explosions.

'See who? Emily, lay back down, you're losing blood.' Evidently, the cut was worse than she had realized.

'A boy – he's almost a man.' Her voice had a dreamy quality to it, and he clearly thought that she was delusional. On the contrary, she was fairly lucid.

'The ambulance will be here soon,' he assured her, taking hold of her hand.

'Hotch!' Rossi's voice.

'How is everyone?' Hotch immediately asked, genuinely more concerned about the rest of the team's welfare than his own.

'We're fine,' Rossi assured him. 'We missed the secondary explosion.' He caught sight of Emily's wound. 'How is she?'

'I'm fine,' Emily responded. 'The First Evil here won't let me get up.' She considered the terminology she'd used. Maybe she was delirious; she'd have to be insane to go around calling Hotch the First Evil.

* * *

When medical help finally did come – at least an hour later – Emily was given the all clear, as was Hotch. Their injuries were minor compared to the rest of the devastation that had taken place.

Rossi was driving the SUV with Emily and Hotch as his passengers. Morgan drove Jordan and Reid. 'Are we sure this was the Circle?' Rossi's question.

'Yes.' Emily's reply was immediate, and overly confident.

'How can you be sure?' Hotch's voice was suspicious. She remembered their earlier bargain. She wasn't going to go back on it.

'I saw someone there – someone that I recognised.' She didn't want to admit what the association was. It would mean that every effort she had put into protecting him, into caring for him, had gone unnoticed.

'A member of the Circle?' asked Hotch.

'No,' she admitted that much. 'Someone who was last seen with the Circle.' He had suddenly disappeared from their cell one day. Her compartmentalisation had broken momentarily, as she broke down into a catatonic sob. In the end, she had only rejoined the world of the living after a bout of brutal torture. It wasn't exactly something she wanted to think about.

'Who?' asked Hotch when she didn't elaborate. She ignored him, trying to stare dolefully out the window. He didn't pressure her, knowing that she would talk when she was ready.

Ten minutes later, out of the blue, she told them. 'My son. I saw my son.'

**A/N: And on that funtastic cliffhanger, I'm going away for a month. I guess, it wasn't really a cliffhanger considering I revealed it halfway through the chapter, but whatever. I won't be able to write, but I will be checking my emails when I can, so feel free to send a PM if you want anything. I shall be posting again in January. Hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.**


	9. Chapter 9

The Downward Spiral

_**The dead cannot cry out for justice; it is a duty of the living to do so for them.**_

_Lois McMaster Bujold_

NINE

In true Hotch style, he sent her home after this revelation. It wasn't that he didn't trust her judgement, or her allegiance for that matter. Any time an agent had a personal stake in a case, it seemed to end in tears.

'Plus,' he added, not unkindly, 'I think you need the time off.'

She argued only momentarily. Rossi's support of Hotch soon put an end to that, though.

'We have no guarantee that he _isn't_ actually a member of the Circle. If he was last seen in their presence, and he's with them now, then it's a logical conclusion.'

'I know.' It had been the only thing running through Emily's minds since she had seen his face. The pain at seeing him for the first time in so long. The fear that he had become something they had never imagined. The wrenching, soul-crushing guilt that this might be all her fault. Was she responsible for letting them turn her son into a monster?

'We can't know what he's like until we bring him in,' rationalised Hotch, reading the uncharacteristic quavering of her voice. They all knew that it seemed more likely than not that he was under their command. Why else would he be here, now. It was the only thing that made sense, and that made it all the more painful.

Rossi parked the SUV outside her apartment building. Since the departure of her predecessor, Hotch was taking as many precautions with his agents' personal lives as their professional. He wasn't going to let her walk into that apartment alone.

'For all we know, they're planning on finishing what they started fourteen years ago.'

"Good," she almost said. The finality of death might almost be worth it, as long as the pain stopped as well.

* * *

They heard the dull thumping before they had even reached her floor. 'I think Hassan's worked out how to use my stereo,' she muttered under her breath. She hadn't expected him to have returned this early.

'So he's a Queen fan, then?' asked Rossi, somewhat unnecessarily.

'He cried when Freddie Mercury died. The entire time I've known him, and that's the only time I've seen him cry.'

Hassan seemed almost insulted at Hotch and Rossi's insistence on checking the apartment. If his increased sense of paranoia wouldn't protect against a home invasion, he didn't know what would.

As the door finally shut behind her two superiors, a switch flipped in Emily's mind. As her psyche has slowly broken down over the past few months, so too had her skills in compartmentalisation. She was limited now to on and off. It didn't seem to matter that she didn't want Hassan to see her like this. It all came rushing to the forefront.

* * *

By the time she regained control of herself, she realised she was in enclosed in Hassan's embrace, her tears soaking his shirt. A new shirt, too, she thought. The fabric was soft and familiar against her skin. His smell hadn't changed.

'Is everything okay?' Of course, he knew it wasn't okay, but then, he also knew that if he wanted to get an answer at all, then he had to broach the subject in the right way.

'Later. I don't want to think about it right now.' She didn't want to burden him with her own problems. Soon, it seemed he would have enough of his own.

A strangely recognizable aroma pierced her nostrils. The profiler inside her kicked in. She knew what he was doing. The music, the shirt, that smell. 'Brandied chicken. You sly son of a bitch.' She was smiling as she said it. The piece of her that wanted to tell him about Steven was locked away tightly.

'Is it working?' he whispered softly into her ear.

'It's working.' She closed her eyes, and all that was left was the moment.

* * *

**A/N: Okay. I'm back. I've just spent 35 hours in planes and airports, but I'm back. This is my pre-nap offering. I haven't mapped out the rest of this fic completely, but the basic idea is in my head. For those wondering about my other fics, well, I've spent bits of my holiday mapping out Play The Game Until at least chapter 9, and I have a fairly good idea of how that's going to end. Shadows of the Minds is a little more vague; I know what I need to do, I just need to get there first. I will post another one-shot that's popped into my head, but you don't get to read anything about that until I've written it. For those wondering about little things that don't make sense in this fic, it will probably make more sense to you once I write and subsequently post part V of Angels Fall First. At this point, I'm not going to say who will come out on top in the Hassan-Morgan relationship battle. You get to read it as it comes.**


	10. Chapter 10

The Downward Spiral

_**Other things may change us, but we start and end with family.**_

_Anthony Brandt_

Warning: Adult themes ahead (read: sex)

TEN

She made the first move. She had done it then, and she did it now. A soft, delicate kiss. Uncertain. A second, more confident kiss, sucking air from his lungs.

'Is this what you want?' he murmured softly, as he felt her hands run up his chest. He wasn't complaining. He just wanted...to be sure.

'Yes.'

His top button came undone. Then the second. 'In the kitchen?' The third. The fourth.

'Anywhere.'

His hands slid off her jacket, discarding it atop a nearby decorative plant. He led her to the kitchen bench, their mouths still firmly attached. On the stove beside them, a pot simmered.

She kissed his left nipple, noting the tiny tattoo beneath it – a Celtic knot. Prison ink. She had been so distracted the previous night, she hadn't even noticed it. 'Are there any other unauthorised changes I should be aware of?' she pulled her mouth away just long enough to ask him.

'No.' He reached his arm around her, fumbling for the clip. 'But I did learn some new things.'

'Nuh-uh.' She shook her head, as her lacy black bra joined the list of clothing items that were no longer being worn. 'Basics first.'

'As you wish.' He took her erect nipple between his teeth, as she arched her back with that hypnotic mix of pain and pleasure.

Belt. Dress pants. Underwear. All added to the list.

And then.

'Oh, God, Hassan. I've missed you so much.' He's pushed her closer and closer to the climax. She moved her hand to get a better grip, afraid she'll fall over from the force he was exerting. It had never been the picture of perfect romance, always rough, always-

'Ow! Fuck.' She pulled away from the kitchen bench, knocking them both into an naked mess of sweat and other bodily fluids.

Ungainly.

In her attempt to better her position, she had put her hand straight into the simmering pot.

As far as their history of painful sexual encounters went, this didn't even make the top ten.

* * *

She held her hand under the tap for nearly five minutes. He was still laughing. She'd laugh too, once the stinging pain went away.

'I think maybe the chicken's done,' she told him, staring accusingly at the offending pot. She was wearing his shirt, a cliché that they'd always embraced. She loved that silken feel against her skin. He did have the best taste in clothes.

He nodded, and pulled two plates from one of her cupboards. The starkness of her kitchen's contents hadn't passed him by.

'So how was work today, sweetie?' A normal, marital conversation. He said it with half a laugh, as if to suggest that their relationship was anything but normal.

'Oh,' she hesitated. 'Bomb blast. Concussion. Stitches.' Steven. Could she tell him? Could he take it? Would he stare into her with those deep brown – almost puppy-dog – eyes? She turned to him, serving spoon in her hand. She gripped it tightly, her safety net.

'I think...I think maybe Steven is still alive.' She regretted it instantly. It sounded stupid. False hope glimmering like diamonds. One of those mothers that couldn't let go of her dead child, even after fourteen years. What she didn't expect was a response, so quick and so casual.

'Yeah,' he said. 'I know.'

**A/N: Short and sweet. Remember though, Morgan isn't quite out of the picture yet.**


	11. Chapter 11

The Downward Spiral

_**The secret of life is to appreciate the pleasure of being terribly, terribly deceived.**_

_Oscar Wilde_

ELEVEN

The chicken sat on the kitchen bench, forgotten.

'You _know_?' There was anger in her voice. Anger and pain. She stared down at the ground.

'Yes.' He moved forward, lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. She resisted only slightly. 'I'd just gotten out of prison. The first thing I did was to track the two of you down. I didn't know if you were alive or dead. I hoped. I hoped so much that you were still alive. My sources told me that you were both alive. That you were in America, with the FBI, and that he was in America too, with _them_. They raised him. Turned him into one of them.' She noticed the tears in his eyes. Noticed that their son's presence hurt him as much as it hurt her.

Seeing Steven at the site of the explosion had been no coincidence. It pained her to realize that he was involved, and it pained her even more to realize that he might be dead by the end anyway.

She looked down again, noticing her bare legs. She didn't want to be having this conversation half-naked. She went in search of her pants. Hassan followed suit.

'Are you going to say anything?' he finally asked, after a few moments of silence.

'What can I say? What words will make any of this better? "Let's find our son, and bring him home so we can be one happy family again?" It doesn't work like that, Hassan. We've lost him.' It's something that they've both already resigned themselves to, and yet saying it out loud just depresses her.

He hugged her, but there was no passion left between them. Not then.

'I'm going to bed,' she said, leaving him to the still wafting aroma of brandied chicken.

* * *

He followed her upstairs soon after. Sensing that she wanted to be alone, he had confined himself to the guest bedroom.

Emily found herself having trouble sleeping, but that was par for the course. Each time she started to drift off, she was awoken by phantom screams of a troubled past. After the fourth time, it was getting a little old. She sat up; put her head in her hands.

When did her life take this turn? How long had the weight being piling up on her shoulders? She didn't know the answer to that question.

In her diminished state, she heard footsteps downstairs. She knew Hassan was still up here. His steps were soft, gentle. These were loud and clumsy. She found her sidearm, and padded slowly towards the door, swinging it open as quietly as possible. Hassan was already there, finger to his lips. In his other hand, she saw an unfamiliar gun. She didn't have time to wonder where he had got it.

'Ambush at the top of the stairs?' she suggested, making certain that her voice didn't rise above a few decibels.

He nodded.

They moved in silence, stealth overcoming them.

The first thing she saw from her vantage point was a pair of heavily booted feet. Amateurs. It was as if they wanted to get caught. She didn't completely disregard the theory. The moment he put his foot on the landing, they moved as one. Hassan kicked his feet out from under him, and Emily moved forward, gun in his face.

'Who sent you?' she demanded, but, unconscious, he couldn't answer. She knew the answer to the question anyway. It was the Circle. It always came back to the Circle. But then, as she studied the face, studied the eyes, she realized that she knew this man. Her captive. Her torturer.

And he hadn't come alone.

'Get down.' No sooner than Hassan had said it, gunshots tore up the wall behind her, destroying artwork that she didn't particularly care for. She felt them whistle past her ear, almost hitting flesh. Stunned, she hadn't moved.

He pulled her down, milliseconds before a bullet struck the wall where she was standing.

They retreated. With some cover, they were less likely to get hit by ricochets.

'I've only got the one magazine,' she told him.

'They won't come up if they know we're armed,' he said. 'They wanted to surprise us. It's too bad they're idiots.'

'So we wait it out,' Emily concluded.

'Yeah,' affirmed Hassan. 'We wait it out.'


	12. Chapter 12

The Downward Spiral

_**Time is a cruel thief to rob us of our former selves. We lose as much to life as we do to death.**_

_Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey_

TWELVE

Hotch was back at the BAU offices. He had been accompanied by Morgan. Neither man felt like going home that night. Morgan was going over all his paperwork, making sure everything was up to date, when Hotch entered the bullpen from his office.

'Shots fired at Emily's apartment,' was all it took for Morgan to throw down the files and follow his boss.

Hotch refused to let him drive; he was irrational. They'd sooner end up in the ICU than at Emily's.

'She's not defenseless,' Hotch tried to reassure the younger man, but Morgan wouldn't have any of it.

He didn't want to lose her.

* * *

They had been at a stand-off for almost half an hour. Neither party would walk into the ambush that had been set on both sides.

The body at the top of stairs began to stir. At first it was just groans, then he began to move his head, then his limbs.

'Hostage?' whispered Hassan softly.

'No. They're all expendable.'

Hassan nodded. 'We could just kill him now,' he suggested.

Emily gritted her teeth. 'Believe me,' she said. 'It's taking all my self-control not to.' She saw that face in her nightmares every night. Torturing her. Taunting her. She knew they sent him along just to make her crack. She wasn't entirely sure it wasn't working.

'Help me with this,' she asked Hassan, and before he could refuse, she crawled over to the barely conscious man. A couple of shots rang out above her head, but her attackers didn't have the right angle to actually hit her. She grabbed the man by the collar, and, with Hassan's help, dragged him back to their metaphorical trenches.

When he awoke fully, her gun was pressed into his forehead.

'Do you remember me, you son of a bitch?' She wanted – needed – to pull that trigger, but her conscience wouldn't let her.

_You're not a bad person_, it said.

'Do you remember how you ruined my life?'

'He wanted you to know,' the man finally said. His voice sent shivers down her spine. She associated this voice with knives piercing flesh, with the searing pain of leather striking her back.

'Who wanted me to know what?' she asked, her fingers shaking. So pre-occupied, she didn't notice that the gunfire had stopped, that footsteps were transcending the staircase.

'He wanted you to know,' said the man, 'that he was the one who betrayed you.'

Then, his arms unpinned, he forced her hand. She pulled the trigger involuntarily, his thumb caught in the guard as his brains blew out through the back of his head.

She sat there, staring at him for several seconds.

'It's okay, Emily,' a voice said. A warm, soothing voice. Whose voice was that?

Familiar hands took the gun from her grip. Her own hands were still shaking.

'I…I…He's dead.' She stepped back quickly. The bringer of her torment was dead, and somehow she didn't feel any better.

'He killed _himself_, Emily,' Morgan told her, trying to put an arm on her shoulder. She let him hug her, and then apologized for getting a terrorist's blood all over his shirt.

'It'll wash out,' he said.

Hassan gave the two of them a sideways glance. Just that one brief gesture between the two of them made it abundantly clear to him. She might still have loved him, but she wasn't in love with him. It was a cliché he'd have to deal with.

The rest of the night, they stayed at Quantico. It was highly unlikely that a terrorist organization would be able to get through the stringent security measures on such short notice. Meanwhile, it gave Morgan a chance to keep an eye out for Emily and go over the case files at the same time.

He was staring at a page blankly when Hassan came over to him. He had not spent any time alone with Emily's husband, and didn't particularly want to.

'I have work to do.' He tried not to let the hate, the jealously overtake his voice, but the emotions he was feeling were clear, even to a non-profiler.

'How long have you loved her?' Hassan asked him. His own voice didn't have that anger, that hate in it. Instead, there was sadness.

He didn't have an answer to that. The truth was, he didn't know. When had it crossed the line from friendship into something else? After Colorado? After Maine?

'I don't know.'

That was as good an answer as he could give.


	13. Chapter 13

The Downward Spiral

_**Any transition serious enough to alter your definition of self will require not just small adjustments in your way of living and thinking but a full-on metamorphosis.**_

_Martha Beck_

THIRTEEN

'What's happening?' Emily was sitting in the conference room glumly, looking up as Jordan Todd spoke from the doorway.

'Oh,' said Emily. 'You know. Husband back from the dead. Son recruited by terrorists. Insurance claims on bullet damage. Same old.' Jordan sat down beside her.

'You helped me through a rough time when I started here. I know I was too stubborn to ask for help. Don't make the same mistake.'

Emily opened her mouth, started to mention that the situations weren't exactly comparable, but then she thought better of it. She had to admit, it was nice to know that someone was there for you.

'I'm feeling…confused,' she revealed. From there, it wasn't long before she had confessed every single doubt, every problem, every choice that was plaguing her. Jordan stared slightly. She was fairly certain that no-one had ever caused Emily Prentiss to open up this much.

'…And I'm fairly certain Morgan saw my bra hanging off a pot plant when he came racing into my apartment tonight.'

'You want my advice?' Jordan asked finally. 'Don't make this decision right now. You're emotionally drained and you'll end up regretting the decision. Wait until this nightmare is over, and then…follow your heart.' She finished the recommendation somewhat lamely.

But that got Emily thinking. Because she wasn't quite sure if the nightmare ever would be over.

* * *

She managed to get a couple of hours of sleep sitting at the conference table, head resting on her arms. She only awoke when Hotch walked in purposefully.

'What's going on?' It took remarkable effort to prevent her words from being slurred with sleep.

'Anonymous tip. The Circle have plans to detonate an explosive device at a bank sometime today.'

'Who would call in a tip?' she wondered aloud. As far as she knew, this particular cell was comprised of devout followers. When Hotch didn't answer, she asked a less rhetorical question. 'Do we know which bank?'

'We've narrowed it down to a few,' Hotch told her. 'Garcia's tracing the phone call, seeing if we can use that as an indicator.'

She made sure her weapon was in her holster and then got up so she could find her vest.

'Are you sure you want to do this?' Hotch asked. He trusted his team members' judgments, but even this was almost too much for him.

'I _need_ to do this,' she said, and he could see the pain in her eyes. He knew that she needed this to be over so she could move on with her life. It was something of a negative position to be taking, but it was necessary for her own sanity.

She vaguely wondered if putting sanity over humanity was the right thing to do.

Then, she realized she didn't particularly care anymore.

The FBI had set up barricades when it became evident that it was too late to close the bank for the day. The bomber was already inside.

'Snipers in position.' Chris's voice crackled over the radio. He never turned down the opportunity to get back behind that rifle of his.

'Do you have a clear shot?' Hotch asked. He was looking through the binoculars himself, and could not see any sign of their bomber. What he could see were dozens of bank customers, sitting in worried groups.

'Negative.'

Emily looked down at the scene. The situation confused her. It wasn't in the Circle's nature to take unnecessary hostages. They would take people they could use, but she didn't see what use they would have for a bank full of scared civilians.

Helicopters buzzed overhead.

Morgan and Hassan had stayed remained at Quantico. Hassan she knew the reasons for; he wasn't technically allowed to be at the scene. Morgan, though. She strongly suspected that Morgan had stayed behind simply to keep an eye on Hassan.

'Could I…?' She asked Hotch, indicating the binoculars. He handed them over wordlessly.

She took a deep breath, as if she already knew what she would see. A few seconds after she put the binoculars to her eyes, a figure stepped back into view. He was not facing her, and his body was mostly block by the hostages sitting near the front doors.

The beat of her heart seemed to slow as he turned around. She saw that face, the face that was so like his father's. She saw the fear, the doubt, that so often plagued her. And she knew then the decision she was going to make.

She had to save her son.

**A/N: L****ooking today I realized that I have six stories that I'm working on, so I've put up a poll on my profile page if anyone wanted to vote on which I should be prioritizing. Plus, remember to review.  
**


	14. Chapter 14

The Downward Spiral

_**Pale Death with impartial tread beats at the poor man's cottage door and at the palaces of kings.**_

_Horace_

FOURTEEN

She handed Hotch her gun, and then started unclipping her vest.

'Emily,' he said. 'I can't let you go in there, you know that.'

Instead of appealing to his emotions, she chose to address his sense of reason.

'I'm the only person you have who has a chance of talking him down.'

'Fourteen years is a long time, Emily. There's no reason to believe he would remember anything about that time in his life.'

'I can't just stand here and watch this happen, Hotch.' She gave him her vest, and then straightened her shirt unconsciously. 'I need to do this.'

She held his gaze for several seconds, her expression one of determination.

'If you can't talk him down, the snipers have a green-light to kill,' he warned her.

She nodded. 'I know.'

* * *

She had to remind herself to breathe as she walked slowly and purposefully towards the bank. She could feel all eyes on her, vulnerable, exposed.

She put her hands up in submission, showing that she was unarmed. The glass doors swung open in front of her, a terrified-looking woman ushering her in quickly.

'Who are you?' He demanded. She looked at him, at his face, his trembling hands, and she knew that he was, more than anything, scared.

'My name is Agent Prentiss. I'm with the FBI. We only want to help.' She spoke slowly, steadily. The last thing she wanted to do was spook him. He visibly relaxed at the calmness of her voice.

'They said…they said if I didn't do this, they'd kill more people. I never wanted to…'

'It's okay. Can you tell me your name?'

'Steven,' he said. 'My name is Steven.' Her heart twanged. She had imagined that they would have reinvented him, given him a new name, a new life. If he still had something left to hold onto, then maybe they had a chance.

'Can you tell me who "they" are, Steven?'

'في دائرة,' he whispered. The Circle. 'They took me from my mother.' His voice cracked as he mentioned her. Emily took the opportunity to step forward slightly. She could see the shine of tears in his eyes, and it took all of her strength not to succumb to her own emotions.

'What do you remember about your mother?' It was a question of both personal and professional importance to her. Asking that question might bring him from the brink of destruction, might save all the hostages. It would also let her know if she ever had a chance at a real relationship with the son she hadn't seen in fourteen years.

'I…' he faltered. 'I tried to hold on to the memories for so long. But now, all I can remember are her screams. But sometimes…when I close my eyes, I think I can almost see her eyes, her hair. Her smile.' He was shaking as he closed his eyes.

Emily choked back a sob.

'Do you remember her name?' she asked softly. He didn't answer, his eyes still closed. As though he had complete trust in her not to disturb him. Or, he didn't care if she took him down.

'We can protect you from them. We won't let them hurt anyone else.' What she had meant was "_I _can protect you from them. _I _won't let them hurt anyone else."

He opened his eyes – his father's eyes – and looked at her. Their tears almost mirrored each other. He didn't flinch, didn't step back when she moved right in front of him and began removing the explosives that had been strapped to his chest.

'Is there a dead man's switch? Remote detonator?'

'No…no, I don't think so.' Nodding, she unfastened the harness, laying it gently on the table beside them.

'It's going to be okay,' she told him soothingly. Tears unfettered, he threw himself into her arms. Surprised, but not disappointed, she held onto him tightly. She wondered if he knew, if he had realized.

A single gunshot rang out.

* * *

Her shirt felt wet and sticky. And red. She didn't remember this shirt being red.

Blood.

She felt no pain, there were no visible injuries. This wasn't her blood.

'Steven?' she asked. She was still holding him, but he didn't respond. Almost hyperventilating, she pulled herself and her son down to the ground gently. His head lay in her lap, that red, sticky fluid leaking from his chest.

'I…' He couldn't speak. She put her hands on his chest, trying to dam the blood that just didn't seem to stop. She turned, saw the cascade of broken glass that littered the floor. The gunshot had come from outside.

'Emily!' Hotch's voice, running towards her.

Steven, life ebbing away by the second, seemed to hear him. 'Mother?' he asked. He was shaking, body slowly but surely giving up.

'It's okay, Stevie,' she said. 'It's all going to be okay.'

When she felt his heart stop beating, saw his eyes close on the world for the last time, she pulled him to her chest, clinging tightly to the body of her only child.

**A/N: Oh god. That chapter was so hard to write. Emotionally draining. I'd been planning to do this all along, but in the end it surprised me anyway. I think I need to go do something happy now. Don't forget to REVIEW.**

**Edit: I have recently come to the conclusion that it is biologically impossible for me to write a happy ending.  
**


	15. Chapter 15

The Downward Spiral

_**Many that live deserve death. And some die that deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then be not too eager to deal out death in the name of justice, fearing for your own safety. Even the wise cannot see all ends.**_

_J.R.R. Tolkien_

FIFTEEN

After the shot was fired, it was exactly nineteen minutes before an SUV containing Morgan and Hassan careened to a hasty stop just outside the barricade. The tableau before them was unmoving.

'Hotch,' Morgan called out. The Unit Chief started at the sound of his name. He lifted his hand from Emily's shoulder. Her shirt had been a stark white that morning – now she might as well have been wearing red.

Hassan didn't even twitch when Morgan rushed over to her, hugged her. She did not move, and continued to stare off into the distance blankly.

'What the hell happened?' Hassan asked Hotch. He was trying to remain calm, but the thin veneer barely covered the brewing storm.

'He was co-operating…'Hotch started.

'I-Then why did you have to shoot him?' The façade was slowly cracking; there was strain in his voice.

'I didn't give the order to shoot,' Hotch tried to explain. He really had no words that could make any of this better.

'THEN WHO THE HELL SHOT MY SON?!' The torrent of anger broke through. He stepped up to Hotch, their faces inches apart. To his credit, Hotch didn't move. He could see the pain in the other man's eyes.

'We have a rogue agent,' Hotch said calmly.

'Who is it?' he grabbed Hotch's shirt lapels. 'Tell me.'

'Chris Solove.'

Hotch could almost see the cogs working in Hassan's mind. He knew that Hassan had known Agent Solove for at least two decades, that they had served together, that Emily had worked with him for three years. To Hassan, it would be the deepest kind of betrayal.

'Where is he? I'm going to kill him.' He didn't seem to care whether Hotch heard him or not.

'We don't know.' Chris had fled immediately after taking the shot, leaving his rifle behind.

But even lack of intelligence didn't stop a man like Hassan.

* * *

'How's Emily?' Garcia asked Hotch as he, Rossi and Reid drove back to Quantico. In the other car, Morgan drove a catatonic Emily and an uneasy Hassan.

'Not good.' It was an assessment that even a layperson could have made. The truth was, Emily had splintered badly, and no amount of reassurance or group hugs could ever fully fix that.

Garcia didn't answer for a few seconds. When she finally did, it was in a choked voice. 'Alrighty. Chris Solove. Born April 13th, 1966. Very normal childhood. Joined Special Forces in '86. Was shot in the throat by an Israeli sniper during the Gulf War – accidental, apparently – and they took him in while the wound healed. He was MIA for six weeks.'

'What if it wasn't an Israeli sniper?' Rossi wondered. 'What if it was a member of the Circle? They take him in, let him heal, and then torture him into being a spy. On their orders, he leaves Special Forces, joins the CIA instead.'

'That's a lot of speculation…'

Rossi nodded. He knew, but he wasn't quite ready to put this down as a mere case of disgruntled sniper.

* * *

They went to Morgan's place; the last thing Emily needed was to be at her apartment right now. Quantico was no better.

'We need to get you out of this shirt, Em,' coaxed Hassan. 'It's covered in blood.' She averted her gaze from his, but moved her fingers towards the buttons. They fumbled.

'It's okay,' he assured her. 'I've got it.' To Morgan, he said, 'Get the shower running.' Normally, Morgan might have taken offence to being ordered around in his own home, but in this case, he was willing to make an exception.

The shirt presented some resistance as he peeled it from her skin. The blood had soaked right through to the skin.

'Did you want me to help in the shower…' He stopped suddenly as she shook her head. He hadn't been expecting an answer.

'No,' she croaked. It was the first word she had spoken since witnessing her son's death. 'I just want to be left alone right now.'

* * *

Blood stained the water pink. Here she was, washing away the last physical reminder she had of her son. There was the body, of course, but even thinking about that sent her mind into shutdown.

Overwhelmed by the events of the day, she curled herself into a ball and cried until she had no tears left.

* * *

Hassan and Morgan stood in the kitchen, each waiting for the other to say something. Finally, Hassan stepped up.

'I'm going to find Chris,' he said. 'Are you with me?'

Morgan nodded. 'What are we going to do when we find him?'

'Oh…' Hassan could not even smile at all the thoughts that were running through his head. He would get no satisfaction from this, merely justice. 'We'll think of something.'


	16. Chapter 16

The Downward Spiral

_**Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.**_

_Confucius_

SIXTEEN

Morgan called JJ, to update her on the events of the past few days.

'Oh, God, Derek.' Every day, the media liaison tried so hard to stop herself from over-reacting to the acts of depravity they dealt with. She had thought herself rather accomplished at the task. This, though. This was something else altogether. 'What can I do?'

He hated lying to them. He really did. But this was something he needed to do for Emily. He couldn't stand around doing nothing when the man that had hurt her was still out there. Just arresting him didn't seem like it would be enough.

'Someone needs to stay with Emily. I think Hassan's gone after Chris.' It was the cover story they'd agreed on. Morgan hadn't felt comfortable betraying the man like that, but he had insisted on it.

Emily was lying on the couch now, staring into the ceiling. He wondered what she was thinking. Was she blaming herself? Blaming Hassan? Trained though he was, he couldn't quite empathize with what she was going through. It was all too much.

'I'll be there soon,' JJ promised him.

* * *

Morgan met Hassan at the Metro station. He saw the lump of a handgun underneath the man's jacket, and he decided that he didn't really care.

'I called in every favor I have,' Hassan told him. 'For me, there's no going back.'

'I understand.' Morgan respected the lengths that Hassan was willing to go to protect Emily.

'If you want to stop me from doing this, then this is your last chance. I'll warn you though, I don't give up easily.'

Morgan was suddenly aware of dark thoughts filling his own mind. The things he felt like doing to Chris Solove. He was almost at the point where he would go against his morals just to make this right. Almost.

'No killing,' Morgan said, though there was nothing more he wanted to do than to snuff that life from existence. 'You can beat the crap out of him, but I won't let you kill him. "Living hell is the greatest revenge."'

Hassan looked at him sideways. 'You're a good man,' he said. 'She deserves someone like you.'

Morgan felt that he almost saw the next move coming, yet he did nothing to stop it. Hassan's fist caught him in the chin, knocking him backwards. By the time he had reoriented himself with the world, Hassan was gone.

* * *

'Garcia.' He talked as he ran. He had no idea which direction Hassan had gone in, but running made him feel as though he was at least doing something.

'_Hey, hot stuff. How's Emily doing?_' Her voice crackled over the line; phone reception wasn't so good in the Metro station.

'I don't know,' he answered truthfully. 'Hassan's going to kill Chris. I went after him, but I lost him. Can you check all the security cameras in the vicinity of my location?'

'_Whoa, slow down. Hassan's going to _kill _Chris? Is he insane?_'

'Apparently.' He didn't mention how he was almost willing to let it happen.

'_Okay, I think I've got him. He got on the train, right after he clocked you one.'_

Morgan ignored the tone of amusement in her voice. 'Which line? Which direction?' She told him.

He checked the timetable; there wasn't another train going in the proposed direction for at least ten minutes.

'Check the cameras at the other stations,' he told her. 'Tell me where he gets off. _Do not lose him_, baby girl.'

* * *

Hotch called Morgan's home phone. Garcia had informed him of the actions of both Morgan and Hassan, but right now, he needed to check on Emily.

'Derek Morgan's residence.' JJ answered the phone. She sounded exhausted.

'Hey JJ. It's Hotch.'

'Hey.' JJ's voice brightened noticeably.

'How's she doing?'

JJ took a while to answer. 'It's…interesting,' she settled on.

'Are you alright? Do you need someone else to come over?' He didn't notice the increased levels of concern in his own voice.

'No,' she told him. 'No, it's fine.'

And indeed, it had been interesting.

* * *

JJ had barely been there half an hour when Henry had started crying. In that time, Emily had said nothing and showed little interest in the world around her. No sooner than the screams had escaped the infant's mouth, though, she had taken him from JJ's arms.

JJ stood there, somewhat shocked.

'It's okay,' whispered Emily. 'It's all going to be okay.' His screams diminished to a few shaking sobs. She stared at the child for a few seconds, as if only just realizing that it was Henry.

'He's beautiful,' she sighed. Her hands felt the smoothness of his skin, the silkiness of his hair as she cradled his head.

'I…I never quite got over losing him the first time,' she said. 'It was always lingering there, trying to crush my soul. When I found out he was still alive…I thought that…there might still be a chance.' Tears were running down her cheeks now, as she let down the barrier that had been holding them back.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered, trying to wipe away the tears unsuccessfully.

'It's okay,' JJ told her. 'Just remember that we're all here for you.'

'Yeah. I remember.'

* * *

Hassan stood over Chris Solove, one of his best friends, and the man that had murdered his son. His gun-wielding hand was unwavering.

'Make sure she knows.' Chris had long since accepted the inevitability of his fate. He had accepted it the moment Hassan had crashed through the door, and swung a fist into his face. He had accepted it with each blow after that, until blood dripped from his face, and bones cracked beneath his skin. 'Make sure she knows that it was me.'

'She knows you killed our son, you sick son of a bitch,' spat Hassan. His finger tightened on the trigger.

'That's not what I meant.' He grinned, and a broken tooth fell from his mouth.

'Then what do you mean? Get it over with. They'll be your last words.'

'Oh Hassan…Who do you think told the Circle there was a CIA agent in Kuwait all those years ago? Who do you think ravaged her when they took her from the cell and she came back shivering? Who do you-' He didn't get a chance to finish his gloating.

Because he was already dead.

**A/N: No-one believed me when I said that Hassan wasn't a bad guy.**


	17. Chapter 17

The Downward Spiral

_**If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don't, they never were.**_

_Kahlil Gibran_

SEVENTEEN

Morgan ran down the hallway, his weapon drawn. When he got to the door, he saw that it had already been torn from its hinges. He stepped inside cautiously.

He couldn't quite place the emotion he was supposed to be feeling when he saw Chris Solove's body. Should he be feeling relieved? Happy, even? Was it wrong to be thankful for another person's death?

He pulled out his phone, dialed Hotch. 'Hey, it's Morgan. Yeah, Chris is dead. I think Hassan killed him.' But even that was part lie – he didn't _think _Hassan had killed him. He _knew_ that Hassan had done this.

Garcia had followed Hassan through the security cameras; he had finally stopped at the apartment in which Morgan was standing. Both he and Garcia had the feeling that Hassan knew they were tracking him, that if he wanted to lose himself in the crowd, he could have. He wanted them to see this.

'He's long gone,' Morgan told Hotch. He wondered if Hassan was now killing every other member of the Circle cell. His own form of revenge. The man was nothing if not unforgiving.

His eyes scanned the room, looking for anything out of place. There, on the table, was an envelope that seemed to have avoided the blood splatter, as though it had been placed there afterwards. Emily's name was written on the front in a careful hand.

Morgan pocketed the envelope; this wasn't something that the crime scene techs needed to see.

* * *

He tried to open the door to his apartment as quietly as possible. Whatever Emily's state of mind, whatever condition she was in, he didn't want to exacerbate it.

JJ greeted him silently. Her eyes were fixed on the couch where Emily lay with Henry in her arms. Both of them were sleeping peacefully.

'It seemed to calm them both down,' she explained.

Though he had been as quiet as possible, Morgan's entrance seemed to have drawn both individuals from their slumber. Henry had a look of bewilderment on his face; he didn't know where he was, but it didn't necessarily scare him that much.

'Hey.' He sat down next to her on the couch, unsure of what to say, what to do.

'Hey,' she shuffled over, as to give him more room. There was a long silence, but it didn't seem to be awkward. 'JJ, could you…?' JJ took Henry from Emily, allowing her to turn and face Morgan properly.

'He killed Chris, didn't he?' It couldn't really be considered a question; already she knew it to be true.

'I couldn't stop him…' He didn't even know if he wanted to stop him. Did that make him a coward? Not strong enough to kill for her, but perfectly happy to let someone else do the work? He didn't know. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the note.

'He left this. I don't know where he went.'

She nodded. She was fighting back tears. She knew that he wouldn't be coming back this time.

'I'm sorry,' Morgan said. 'I know you loved him.'

He got up to leave, only stopping when Emily said, 'Wait.' She put the note in her own pocket, unopened.

'You're right. I _did_ love him. But now…every time I look at his face, I see the past. All that pain. I loved him once, and nothing will ever change that. But I can't love him now.' She grimaced at her own words, as if they hadn't quite come out like she had suspected.

'Let me try again,' she started again. She would have gone further, but was silenced by a kiss. She pulled back, surprised.

'I'm sorry.' He apologized for the second time in the space of as many minutes. 'I have no idea what came over me.'

'No,' she said. 'No, don't apologize. You just caught me off guard.'

'I'm not rushing you?' he asked her softly, taking in her scent.

'No.' Her past was behind her now; she would never forget the tragedies, the delights, but neither would they interfere with her life.

The second kiss was longer, deeper.

In the background, JJ patted Henry on the back. 'It's about time,' she whispered into tiny ears.

**A/N: I wasn't happy with this chapter, but go figure. I wanted to finish it before I went to work.  
**

**Well, almost 50,000 words into the AFF series, and you finally get your first kiss. Now that, M/E shippers, is dedication. This one is now finished, but the story will be continued in Angels Fall First IV: Bittersweet Symphony, which will be started when I've got my other stories under controls.**

**Peace out, and thanks for enjoying the ride – tfm.**


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